


Tears In Place Of Words

by PrivateBi



Category: Hamlet - Shakespeare
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, I can't write anything longer than two pages, there's also like no dialogue here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-12-13 17:05:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11764461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrivateBi/pseuds/PrivateBi
Summary: In which Hamlet cries a lot, and says nothing





	Tears In Place Of Words

A mournful chorus of sobbing echoed through the halls of Elsinore, sending Horatio running in search of it’s source. It was a voice he recognized, a voice he loved, and it broke his heart to hear it raised in such a profound cry of anguish. He slammed open every door as he followed the voice, eyes scanning every corner of every room. Horatio could not atone for tarrying so long at Wittenberg, leaving Hamlet at the mercy of his corrupt and unfeeling family, but he refused to let Hamlet suffer alone any longer. If he had to search every room in Elsinore, he would.  
Horatio found him in an empty room in a disused hall, curled into himself in the corner farthest from the entrance. His face was hidden, and his slim shoulders shook with every shuddering breath. Horatio found himself kneeling at his side before becoming aware he had crossed the room.  
    “My lord,” he breathed in a voice filled with concern and compassion. In response, Hamlet lifted his face from his knees, revealing bloodshot eyes set above bruised, purple bags. Saltwater ran in rivulets down his face, pooling in the creases that formed as his face twisted into a mask of grief. It was all Horatio could do to keep tears from welling in his own eyes at the sight. A soft sound of pity escaped him. Oh, my sweet Hamlet, he thought. Look what this place has done to you.  
    Horatio simply knelt there for a moment, feeling helpless against the vast waves of grief that battered the prince from all sides, threatening to wear him down to nothing. There was nothing he could do that have any effect in the face of such overwhelming emotion. There was no advice he could give, no distraction he could provide. All he could do was open his arms, and let Hamlet fall into them.  
    Hamlet buried his face in Horatio’s shoulder and wailed like a child, in a way that was almost more screaming than crying. Hot tears soaked into Horatio’s sleeve as he held him tightly and rocked slowly back and forth, wishing he could do more. In his mind, he cursed heaven, hell, and everything in between for putting his friend through such misery. He would damn himself, the late king, and every other soul in Elsinore if he thought it could bring Hamlet peace. He would damn every soul in Denmark if he thought it could restore the prince to his former self.  
    At Wittenberg, Hamlet had always seemed to be standing on the precipice of joyful discovery, devouring every new idea and making it his own. Such speeches he had made, whispered into Horatio’s ear in the library after dark, about poets and philosophers. Horatio could have sworn, in those moments, that he actually glowed. In comparison... it was as if the Hamlet of Elsinore, the one weeping in his arms, was a warped reflection of his previous self. He too seemed to stand on a precipice, but over a pit of dark despair from which Horatio could not pull him back. His speeches were as passionate as ever, but now filled with crushing sadness and corrosive rage. If it hadn’t been for his moments of frenzied philosophizing, his biting sardonic wit, and the brilliance of his increasingly rare smiles, Horatio wondered if he would even recognize the man in his arms as the same man who had left Wittenberg scarcely two months prior.  
    Now it was Horatio making speeches into Hamlet’s ear. “Shhh, now, shhh. It’s okay. You’re okay.” He was lying, and they both knew it. What mattered more than the candor of his speech was the fact that he was there, speaking. What mattered was that, in this moment,  Hamlet did not have to face his pain alone. Horatio began to gently run his fingers through Hamlet’s mess of golden curls, gently undoing the tangles formed by neglect. “I’ve got you, you’re okay.”  
Eventually, Horatio’s gentle hands and soft voice had their desired effect, and Hamlet’s anguished cries gave way to soft weeping. Even so, the two men stayed wrapped around each other until Horatio’s back began to ache. Finally, Hamlet raised his head to meet Horatio’s eyes, took a long shuddering breath, and released it. He looked as if he had been wrung dry: shaken and sad and small. Horatio tenderly wiped the last of the tears from under Hamlet’s tired eyes, allowing his hand to linger and caress the prince’s face. The smaller man leaned wearily into the touch, fondness shining in his mournful eyes like the sun from behind rain clouds. Horatio drew his thumb over Hamlet’s chapped lips before drawing him back into his arms. He could tell by the way Hamlet melted into the embrace that he was exhausted from the outpouring of so much emotion. He held Hamlet tightly, listening to him breathe, until he succumbed to that exhaustion, sleep taking him at last.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not much of an author, but I think I kept this short enough to be inoffensive. Also please pardon any formatting errors, computers hate me.  
> I'm @to-this-favor on tumblr if you want to scream about Hamlet with me, or view my virtual hoard of other people's cool ideas.


End file.
